AND 



ILXNNIE MOOTFOnT 




Class _i^lM>iL 
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,10 



CZOEffilGHT DEPOSm 



NYDIA ^ 

OTHER POEMS 



BY 
NANNIE MONTFORT 




KANSAS CITY, MISSOURI 

BURTON PUBLISHING COMPANY 

Publishers and Booksellers 



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COPYRIGHTED IQiy 
BY 

NANNIE MONTFORT 
Kansas City, Mo. 



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m -8 1918 
©CI.A48ia44 



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DEDICATION. 

' Whosoever feels the need of understanding sym- 
pathy; whosoever weeps beside the desecrated 
and broken altar of life; whosoever lives in the 
shadow of sorrow; whosoever has loved, and, 
seemingly, lost; whosoever is stumbling along in 
the subways of life but longs for the sunshine, 
bird song and flowers that greet those who walk 
in beautiful ways; whosoever loves mankind, and 
has abiding faith in the all conquering power of 
God, and in the good in all, to these, this little 
volume is lovingly dedicated. 

THE AUTHOR ' 



INTRODUCTION. 

Sense and sentiment sifted together and made up 
into a wholesome bill of fare for the folks — that's 
this volume by Mrs. Thomas P. Montfort! 

A country woman, who has spent a goodly por- 
tion of her life in that city, her views and visions 
are sane and practical, yet rich in imagery and 
true poetic spirit — not the outburst of a week or 
year, but here are preserved in permanent form 
the choicest versification of a lifetime, built out 
of heart and soul experiences through the cycles 
of a soul's development, abounding one day in 
the completest of joy, and then darkened by the 
Never Welcome Messenger, but through every page 
and in each poem is found that most helpful of 
all attributes of human character, optimistic pa- 
tience ! 

"Optimistic patience" may not be an orthodox 
phrase, but is it not at least a reasonable expres- 
sion? That "too seldom," or rather too rare, qual- 
ity (or habit) of "making the best of it," of seeing 
"the silver lining," of generating happiness by 
shielding friends and loved ones from our own 
burdens, of breathing the pure air of hopefulness, 
of holding up the hands of one's life partner, of 
building men and moulding women for unselfish 
service — that's my definition of "optimistic pa- 
tience." 

This little volume carries a message — and that 

7 



Eight 

message is of the heart. You can not read from 
page one to finale without having come to the 
definite conclusion that you, too, have had similar 
experiences, that you have thought the same 
thoughts in different form! 

The person who has experienced a great sad- 
ness in the loss of a near or very dear friend or 
loved one will discover at once herein a comfort 
and a consolation, a mystic tonic and a nameless 
benefit. The writer of these poems knows and 
understands what unbroken and unbreakable si- 
lence means, and Mrs. Montfort sometimes seems 
to sing for her charming and now translated 
daughter, who once graced the author's home with 
the queenly and beautiful daintiness of a brunette 
princess of the royal family — and through the 
melting pot of soul sorrow her music has here 
come to you and to me, in this volume, sweetness 
and sunshine suggesting the sometimes attendant 
spirit of another angelic sojourner Beyond with 
golden tresses with whom that sainted daughter 
held choicest earthly fellowship. 

Words cannot measure the heights and depths 
of human sorrow, neither can they picture the 
power of that silent loneliness — but words and acts 
may comfort and cheer, even if they can not con- 
sole at the time of the passing to Sorrowless Land 
of those loved and worshipped in the sanctuary of 
heart ! 

"Nydia" is a real inspiration. "Beyond the 
Beautiful Clouds" is alone worth the retail price 
of this work. "Where Is Happiness" is another 
truly treasure. "Grandfather's Bible" appeals to 
everybody. "Today and Tomorrow" is a Missouri 
classic. "Life in Reality" triumphs over all the 



Nine 

passing worries. "Love in June" — everybody's 
been there! "A Waking Dream" is filled with 
tears and retrospect. "My Rosebud" needs no in- 
troduction. "The River of Death" deserves to go 
down the ages with the English language. "Mis- 
souri," one of the best tributes to the Land of Op- 
portunity yet written. "In Love's Fond Keeping" 
is the best insurance ever devised. 

Jealousy is the poison vine of society on the 
rail fence of human life — and that greenest and 
vilest of human passions is least found in this 
well presented edition. Ambition is the watch- 
spring of energy, "the burning desire to be" fires 
the soul to endless labor to make life real, and the 
lack of it makes existence a rusty plow in a spring- 
time garden. Many, many men and women have 
dared to die for principle without the applause 
of the world, and that lovely devotion to duty 
underlies the structure of this literary creation. 
"Oh, Bring Me the Roses Today" is a complete 
flower garden of the faith of fellov*^ship. 

Like the bird of night, regret and loneliness 
sometimes hover and brood in clear daylight over 
the soul in the market place, as if seeking to 
turn all order to chaos, all hope to chance, all 
faith to sophistry, all love into regret! 

"The Song of a Lost Soul" is of true art. "Be- 
yond the Gates of Mist" is the antidote. "Is Mar- 
riage a Failure?" upsets the every theory of the 
self-contented bachelor and the well preserved mai- 
den lady. "The Old Rail Fence" is cheered to 
the echo by every man or boy who knows life as 
it was and is in the open country. 

From "Moonlight on the Mountain," as I have 
seen it at Marshall's Pass, along with "Which 



Ten 



Would I Choose," to "In Summer Time," one finds 
enough to feel truly thankful for, in the tenor of 
sincere worship of the Most High. 
Yours for the Flag and the Folks. 

JEWELL MAYES, 

Secretary Missouri State Board of Agriculture. 
The State House, Jefferson City, Missouri, October. 
1917. 



CONTENTS 

Page 

Nydia 13 

Song of A Lost Soul 26 

Beynd The Gates of Mist 36 

Mated Souls 38 

Sweet Thoughts 40 

When The Children Have All Gone Away 40 

Oh, Bring Me The Roses Today 42 

To Nina 43 

Is Marriage A Failure? 44 

TheCity 46 

Christmas Bells 47 

At Last 48 

The Old Rail Fence 49 

The Mother's Flower 51 

Beyond The Beautiful Clouds 53 

Cupid's Message 54 

Where Is Happiness? 57 

Somewhere 58 

Sweetheart If All The World Were Mine 59 

Where Art Thou? 60 

A Sylvan Retreat 61 

Recognition 62 

11 



Twelve 

CONTENTS— Continued 

Page 

Grandfather's Bible 65 

Today And Tomorrow 66 

The Old Year And The New 67 

/ Life InReality 68 

yjhowe In June 69 

A Waking Dream 70 

My Rosebud 71 

/On The Birth Of A Child 72 

The River Of Death 72 

^Forsaken 73 

Grandfather's Grave 74 

To A Master Poet 76 

My Fancy Land 76 

Genera Fidelis 77 

>^Love 79 

The Musician's Queen 81 

Recompense 81 

When You Are Away 82 

Missouri 82 

Lines To An Aged Friend 84 

Kindly Deeds Live On , 85 

In Love's Fond Keeping 86 

In Summer Time 87 

Which Would I Choose? 88 

J Moonlight On The Mountain 90 

Love's Miracle 92 

Mother's Letter 93 



NYDIA. 

Where Orion's golden lamplight dies 
Beneath fair Italia's smiling skies, 
Pompeii nestled by the sea, 
Where fierce Vesuvius constantly 
Built fiercer and more deadly fires 
Below her castles and her spires, 
And gluttoned them until they crept 
Like some delirious beast which, kept 
Restrained too long, bursts bolt and chain 
And leaps with frenzied howl again 
To freedom, but to fury wrought 
By pent up force until it sought 
Revenge, and turned upon its prey 
With unrelenting greed to slay; 
Nor spared the old, nor left the young, 
But lapped their lives with burning tongue 
Until Pompeii's ashes piled 
Above sweet maiden, mother, child, 
And hid them deep in Lava streams. 
And left unfinished midnight dreams 
Of lover's kiss and fond adieu. 
And husband's dear protection through 
Every danger and every trial 
Where tender care and self denial 
Gave nobler witness of his love 
Than lavish promises could prove. 

13 



Fourteen 

Among the mingled, fleeing host 

That madly struggled for the most 

Advantage, and the best defense 

In that dark maelstrom where the sense 

Of sight but gave impediment 

To safe escape, and only lent 

Less guidance to emboldened hearts 

Who sought egress along the marts 

Of market and the homeward way, 

Was one who, reared without one ray 

Of heaven's palest beam to guide 

Her meager duties in the tide 

Of Spartan lust for eminence, 

Yet had liberal recompense 

Of Nature's other gifts, most crude. 

Most ardent, mysterious and nude, 

Mere lacking meet adornment lost 

In paucity of cast, not cost 

Of patrician culture, nor all 

Rich legacies bequeathed to small 

Merit, and made a memory gift. 

To doubtful custodians who shift 

Life's sweet, patrician heritage 

A curse to feebler lineage — 

Analogies 'twixt tragic fate 

And old traditions grafted late 

Upon bare limbs in premature 

Decay without power to endure 

Stern Time's immutable demands, 

Made by Omnipotent commands 

To all in whose veins divine Art 

Leaves spark of its diviner part 

To keep alive degenerate earth 

And prove life is of higher birth — 

Vast mead of mighty Nature's force. 



Fifteen 

Eternal in its after course, 

Leaving naught with which it was endowed. 

Within the casket and the shroud, 

But rare mechanism, which it taught 

Response before birth and then brought 

To natal concept of the world 

Material, against which it hurled 

All its insistent self, and made 

Prima Mater give constant aid 

To high, unbridled energies 

Linked in pregnant mysteries, 

Plutonian showers of molten sand 
Flung Egyptian midnight o'er the land, 
Filling gorgeous temple, humble home. 
And kingly palace to the dome 
With deadly fumes, distilled beneath 
The ghastly reservoir of death. 
Young man and maiden, master, slave 
Reposed, ill mated, where the wave 
Of scorching lava poured its fire 
Upon their common funeral pyre. 
Baptising proud, Castillian race 
With low born Grecian, face to face. 

Nydia, guided by occult power unrevealed 
To those who lean on wisdom gained from field 
Of finite, manifest experience, had knowledge 
Profound, disfranchised from curriculum of college 
Where no higher oracles than babes in science teach 
Superlative, heterodox creeds which only reach 
Their zenith when discoursed by those who meas- 
ure them 
To their own lean margins, not touching the hem 
Of Truth's bejeweled garments. 



Sixteen 

Love gave to Nydia his rare, effulgent beams, 
Almost beyond her lost and fondest dreams, 
Revealed through dull, emotionless, night bound 

eyes 
That kept concealed all outward mysteries 
Which voice the inward language more 
Than all dear utterances in the ample lore 
Of lovers, and keep mere speech in leash most 
Restraining when most distracting silence cost 
High vantage ground. 

Glaucus felt the flames that fiercely burned 
Beneath the funeral pyre of hope and turned 
All joys to mounds of ashes, cold and dead, 
In Nydia's sparsely peopled world, and spread 
Black despair o'er every high, insistent plan 
Which the patient eyes of vague images scan; 
Images which, as a famished child 
Prolongs its pain in gestures unreconciled. 
And keeps constant moaning, and vain command. 
For one dry crust from the unresponsive hand. 
But Kingly Glaucus kept tryst with high born 

lone, 
Since living, and adorable emotions shone 
In her dreamy eyes, and the black pall of eclipse 
Veiled the light in Nydia's and sealed her lips, 
As when embalmer seals the casket wherein repose 
The broken urn of life, with bud and faded rose. 

Blind eyes look beyond the things they cannot see, 

And find a light in darkness, prophetically; 

Discerned through promise in eternal law 

That naught is lost of love through hindering flaw 

Of present ministrations of finite creed. 

Which links no longer that fleeting, finite need, 

After which Death lifts the veil that hung between 



Seventeen 

Devoted worshiper and royal mien 

Of kindred soul. Life holds vast mysteries, 

And keeps them hid 'till Dissolution turns the keys; 

Then Destiny unrolls the living picture 

Of prearranged, high choice: Nor flaw, nor 

stricture 
Renders Love impotent. He lifts the nectared wine 
To his famished lips and, drinking, murmurs "Mine, 

mine." 

Rare estates of divine love are preempted by 
Pinched and selfish dreams of avarice, which lie 
Along life's rim, as lower strata of clouds 
Lie at morn, in filmy phalanxes of shrouds 
Around the horizon, above which forever stream 
Clustering bars of light as in our virgin dream 
We see the shimmering peaks of the high destiny 
Bequeathed to souls that prove love by loving 
ministry. 

Monuments of celestial laws 

Are hidden with Almighty Cause, 

But only keep their secrets when 

Blind mortals live below their ken, 

And make of creeds strong chains to bind 

To narrow paths, infinite Mind — 

Rare delinquents more to rich Truth 

Than to impoverished lies, forsooth; 

More liking false, apostate themes 

Than Love's most illuminating dreams 

More deified in being love 

Of man for woman, with strength to move 

Sweet love in her sweet virgin soul. 

Than kneeling at a throne where roll 

Forever pious anthems, sung 



Eighteen 

In praises of Jehovah, among 
Whose laws are those immutable, 
Inexorable, inscrutable, 
Which man must obey or sink 
His mighty race beneath the brink 
Of iridescent Life — most dread 
Of ail radical failures. Dead 
In truth if over Life's fountain 
Monumental silence falls — mountain 
Of Stygian, echoless night — 
And hides the pageantry of light. 
And the pregnant nucleus of love 
From the myriads of beings who move 
More under His purpose to meet 
Gorgeous prospects ministering to sweet 

Love — richest of all highborn art — 
Streaming from Almighty Passion's heart 
Over bagatelles of lovers' most 
Marvelous conferences — host 
Of weighty nothings in padded 
Volumes of occult science added 
To rainbow promises dancing 
Just beyond the hill where glancing 
Pinions of white doves circle in hewn 
Azure, and countless stars are strewn 
Like dust of pyrites flung broadcast 
In Mosaics when Pleiades passed, 
Before purple Boreas sought his throne 
And made Aurora come alone 
Most meagerly attired; and silent all 
Her young choristers in the hall 
Where Night lies on the catafalque 
Of dead Summer and chants a hymn to 
Sweet, broken vows whispered between 
Unfettered yearnings to make the mean, 



Nineteen 



Portentious barriers, zenith high, 
Crurxibled to dust before the cry 
Of stern, excommunicating Fate 
Reaches their ears, "Too late, too late." 

Ail sensitized Dust hold divine right to love, 
And all, primarily and eagerly, strive to prove 
Their love ere spurious heir (Lust) usurps the 

throne 
And promulgates base claims of his own 
Apostate and paricidal fossils. 
Wearing bold insignia, lace and tassels 
Of first scions of ancient royal blood 
Who challenged with bugle call and stood 
Awaiting honors befitting their high role 
As ministers to the rare courts of the soul, 
But were denied eminent motives ere 
Lineal prestige could be made clear. 

Love, paraphrased by depraved impostor, 

Barely made escape in time to foster 

Wounded pride and darling innocence 

Dangled between ideal, sweet consequence 

And ostensible bliss e'en approaching truth 

In winsome smile and artful claim, till youth 

Capitulates in bal masque, charmed by gay 

And even grotesque artifice of the play 

Where gypsy phantasms hide diabolic face 

And parley with roguish nymphs about the grace 

Of Nature's patrimony — a mocking taunt 

In surreptitious familiarity — to haunt 

Vain connoisseurs with ominous gallantry 

Dipped in the dead sea of black sorcery 

And sprinkled, luringly, on Judas lips 

Whose caprices are a deadly charm which dips 



Tiventy 

Every concession made by innocence in 
Smoldering Vesuvius of blistering sin 
Hidden, most deftly, beneath sweet danger, rose 
Laden, and strewn with litter of gorgeous pose — 
Anodyne to frail youth, benumbing a part 
Of sense lingering on the arcade of the heart. 
Calling listlessly to Love to anoint the strife 
Anew and break kinless alliance with Life 
In death, and shut out living, recurring streams 
Of stern visaged phantoms which haunt their 

dreams 
With squandered past, present and future dower 
In Heaven's benefactions lost at the hour 
Of awakening, dear claim granted Life and Love, 
Whose fulfillment confirms man's proudest gift 

to prove 
Himself incarnate God. Doth not God create 
Exultant life and make for himself vast estate 
Of svreet parenthood? Then shall his glorious 

sons 
And radiant daughters be discordant ones 
In the great harmony of Nature's overture 
Which, if left unrendered, all else must endure 
Oblivion? Dread Chaos would hide the face 
Of sweet Nature. All heaven, earth, air, give place 
To utmost limit of thick, engulfing Night: 
Nor ending yet, since begun, no law of light 
Could refrain from keeping universal law 
Of annihilation, but must cease to draw 
Existence unto itself, since all is not; 
And all that was but an opaque, abysmal blot. 

Eternal Mind sees all life, part, by secret part, 
But linked each to each by Time's unerring art, 
Making a living theme which sweeps the universe 



Twenty- One 

in voiceless harmonies that myriad worlds rehearse 
To myriad other worlds that swing in lower space — 
Chords in the diapason that swell the rolling bass, 
As Life's minor passages, in doloroso strain, 
Mingle with the dominant and make the full refrain 
In the grand ensemble of tonal eloquence 
Throbbing through all nature — voice of Great Om- 
nipotence. 

Lovely lone looked, in Glaucus' most adoring eyes, 
Like a radiant creature new from the Paradise 
Of man's virgin dream of woman's innocence and 

grace. 
Enshrined in her every movement, form and face. 
And made strong bonds to hold him to his pure 

ideal 
Against the broken anchor of his faith when real 
Mockish, bastard love assails his most delinquent 

dreams 
And sinks him below the surface of burning streams 
Of passion's molten lava which makes his kingly 

soul 
Like hissing serpent writhing through the sulphur- 
ous coal 
In a charred crust, immune from Love's endearing 

charm 
That calls and beckons, ominously, to give alarm, 
Lest more links be forged in the strong, corroding 

chain 
Which binds, at last, to exile and unrelenting pain. 
Since all who live apostate to the just decree 
Of eternal law must bear rueful penalty. 

Gaze down upon depraved human life. 
And lift the pall of blackened strife 



Twenty- Two 

From carnal offerings to sensate dust, 

In haggard finery-^ornate crust 

Of a loathsome pauper's m.eager dole 

Bought in vile exchange for a soul — 

Sorry price for Heaven and love, 

Paid after mortal existence wove 

Gilded vice 'round Youth and Age 

And trailed its slimy folds o'er life's page 

Like reptile writhing down the steep path 

In sinuous gyrations of wrath 

And festooning its venomous length 

Around the soul, drinking its strength, 

And wantonly binding within 

Polluted art to prolific sin, 

Making hideous scyprian, not woman. 

Incarnate demon, not human, 

Opulent in man's power to harm. 

Prodigal with woman's gift to charm, 

Yet having lost all hallowing life 

In vast posterity's loving strife 

For final expurgation, sought 

By all pure souls, but never wrought 

Since liberated Force was given 

Mysterious birth in high Heaven. 

Love touches all pure dreams with artistic imagery, 
As when Aurora lifts her rosy canopy 
Along the east and tints opulent Nature more 
Beautifully than bold, garish sunbeams that pour 
Fire of scorching mid -summer fury into her heart 
Leashing her full ministration and marring her art. 
Love applies all inherent gifts to building among 
The eternal hills of rare Altruria where are hunj? 
Ineffable miniatures of fadeless charms, revealed 



Twenty- Three 

To those who denied claim of crude films and ap- 
pealed 
To high law, invoking naught but clearly defined 
Principles of Divine Art on films of virgin mind 
And illumined through all future ages in tones 
Of everlasting, intramural light which enthrones 
All beauty, ardently held captive in the soul, 
And made its paramount creed, its religion, its goal. 

Most loyal, kingly Glaucus, magician and high 
priest 

Of Love in his meager realm, invited to the feast, 

By his adorable grace, lineal pensioners of the court 

Of Youth and Innocence — gold insig*nia — not for 
sport 

Of hybrid imps, half man, half brute, iconoclast 
who breaks 

The sacred image in Woman's soul and rudely 
shakes 

Profound dreams of equity in life's vast heritage. 

Leaving no inmost wish but that which doth dis- 
engage 

Her from all hallowed joys of sweet motherhood, 
but, 

Giving audience to reason that Nature's law gives 
nut 

Indentation of shell, in its finite rendition, 

Learned wisdom from lesson of deeds and their 
fruition. 

And lent mature choice to fair lone; nor broke tryst 

With mute, pensive Nydia, child of martyred law 
who wist 

Not that 'mong the hills of sweet Altruria Love's sig- 
nals keep 

Mastery in jurisprudence, flashing lights that sweep 



Twenty-Four 

From alpha to omega, the horoscope of Soul 
Lifting, surely, lesser lights made dim by the whole 
Jangling phrase of propagation, honored more 
when lapse 

Of meager power brings abortive effort, than when 

paps 
Filled with lacteal taint give sustenance to lost 

chord 
In anthem of creation; but holy creed if the word 
Of command begets in mother lore that honeyed 

speech 

Which all lower atoms know, and Love's evangels 

teach ; 
Which gains cooing infant's smile and weaves into 

its form 
Tissues of strength and pours largess of inherent, 
warm 

Affluence upon the sacred altar of initial 
Diocese of Force — pioneer of sacrificial 
Knowledge, since all infant wisdom loses its tact 
When momentous Life opens the book of quickening 
fact 

And leaves upon its illuminating pages 
Didactic proof of Progress ere pre-historic ages 
Left imprint of virile Energy on specific 
Arbiter of finite destiny — man — terrific 
Impetus in all creation, since first dominion 
Was leased him by Almighty God whose hovering 
pinion 

Of love shall forever keep all order of being 
Relinquished from eternal defeat, and from seeing 
Oblivion, since naught transcends His wisdom, or 
command 

'Gainst destruction of atom hid in grain of sand; 



Twenty- Five 

And less could apostateism trample out the spark 
of fire 

Wliich he blew into doric temple, wrought by a 
higher 

Law of Dynamic Skill than demonstrates in sover- 
eign man s 

Humbler kindred. No illuminating logic spans 

Doctrine of extinction when flames of dissolution 
bum 

Thin partition wall, reared by trite expediency, urn 

Of moldv dogmas kept like ashes of old potentate. 

Sans life in crumbling name scrawled upon the 
tarnished plate. 

Biogenesis and logic of Soul is God inert 
And God apparent, designated by power to divert 
Unclassified Energ\- into varied currents 
Of immature, specific attributes, making deterrents 
Of counter laws of degenerative system which 
Prepare wavs for rehabilitation of law — ditch 
Between manifest life and transcendent existence 
Called death which closes all avenues of assistance 
To eternal law of earth procreation of mortal, 
Insulating crust — body — and bars the stark portal 
To electrifving, indi\-idualized Ego, 
Lea\-ing the I Am to manifest in spheres so 
Remote from Dust insignia that all preconceived, 

dear hopes 
Are miraged, but ardent near facts hing along the 

slopes 
Of Eternal Progression, which leads to Almighty 

God- 
Ladder reaching down from Him and resting on the 

sod. 



Twenty- Six 



THE SONG OF A LOST SOUL. 

Lost, lost, lost! Heard you not a cry of pain 

Beating upon the wings of night. 
Like the moaning of a dove, half slain. 

On its peaceful, home-wending flight? 

Long, long, my soul had kept the hunter's snare, 
Which lay beneath my quick desire. 

From linking my fingers in its meshes where 
Love demeaned in regal attire. 



^xy^ 



Oh, long, long, on love a god may live 
WTiere Beauty's lips fond vows rehearse; 

But linger not when Bachus' imps would give 
My lady's lips a charm'd curse. 

Oh, linger not where Bachus is a guest; 

Lo, souls must pay the awful cost 
Of purple wine, laughter and maudlin jest 

In Heavens love birth-right, lost, lost! 

At Portia's feet a worshiper I knelt; 

And, clasping her white hand in mine, 
I held it to my lips until I felt 

The vampire beat against the shrine. 

Of Youth; and the strong, untasted draught 

Of virgin love deluged my soul, 
As low, lowering clouds, when they have quaffed 

Condensing mist until they roll 

'Gainst yon space, flaming black, until they burst 
In lavish fury, hurtling rain, 



Twenty-Seven 



In panic haste, so came my demon thirst 
Which ever brought me clinging pain, 

And kindled giant salient madness, dipped 

In gorgeous mimicry of hell 
Where coiled baneful dragons, grimacing, tipped 

To naked, hooded crest with well 

Developed, blazing, barbed-like, gorgon teeth; 

And dolphin gills for ears were set, 
While adder eyes dart fiery gleams which wreathe 

In hissing curves about each net 

Which binds the monster where he lies and traps 
Voracious beasts, with glutton maws 

Bulging taut as glistening sails whose straps 
Encircle beam and rugged hawse. 

Lying puffed and slimy in a putrid pool 

Of fetid blood, kept hot by haters 
Primordial torches, which never cool, 

And parched remorse which ne'er abates. 

Hybrid imps aspire to woo their paramours; 

And knight of sin keeps tryst with shame 
In holocaust of hallowed power and endures 

Utmost torture of the living flame. 

Baleful fiends climb mountains baptised in heat, — 

Colleries of voluptuaries, 
IVIade fiery by the pressure of their feet 

And their cognizant emissaries 

Wliich group about them in malevolent crowds, 
Leering hideously and aghast; 



Twenty -Eight 

Moving arsenals fanned by sulphurous clouds 
Unrolled by infernal blast 

From black Mephistophile's nitric mines 

Where he distills evanescent fumes 
From grira Pluto's decaying winnowed lines 

Of babbling gnomes with grimy plumes, 

And motley souls hewn down by Time's broad 
sword, 

While passing through terrestial life; 
Slain, some in youth and some a veteran horde, 

Massed in the phalanxes of strife. 

The hollow eyes and lips of shriveled age 

Keep constant vigil over death; 
And kiss, forever, his cold cheeks, in rage 

Because he cannot chill their breath. 

Eyes that erstwhile lighted with dear Love's beams, 

And sent his envoy on before 
To make mimic overtures of his fond dreams, 

And steal virtue with his maudlin lore. 

Lips which dangled Love upon their whispered 
troth. 

As the fisherman tempts the trout 
With impostor bait, quick dethrones both, 

And shuts another angel out 

Of Heaven, and strangles woman's lily soul 

In a lingering, fulsome hell, 
Smelted in libations of infamous toll, 

Wrung from livid victims as they fell. 



Twenty- Nine 



To devouring, puissant sin and young, 

Festering, voluminous, keen 
Propagating, licentious forms among 

Purgatory's satyrs between 

Whose flaming eyes leans a long proboscis, 
Hooklike, attached to grapple deep 

In muddy waters where the corpse is 
Lying at the bottom of the steep. 

Slippery cavern, gaping at the pool 
Where Prometheus, bound, appeases 

Beetling vulture -that picks his vitals to cool 
His clawlike, fetid beak, and seizes 

In his wattled talons, haggled, pulpy strips 
Of quivering flesh, plucked before 

His dilated, plethoric eyes, while drips 
Coagulated clots of gore 

From his pulmonary arteries, hot 
With over measure of thick blood. 

Ominous of inanition; marplot 
On respiration, wrapping the hood 

Of cardiac paresis around the pole 

Of palpitating life bound fast 
Upon the stern rocks of clustering whole 

Days, weeks, months, years, wantonly passed 

In macegenation of affinities. 

Biped in form, harpies in truth, 
That declaim themselves the divinities 

Of impotent, yet candid youth. 



Thirty 

And blind their blistering phantasmagorias 

With the rainbow promises held 
In all Cupid's loyal inventories 

Of artless compliments, which, swelled 

By mesmerizing kisses, constitute 

A nucleus around which cling 
The oviporous molecules, and the mute 

Protoplasms, with Plutonian wing 

WTiich swarm when Love lights his radiant arc 
And hangs it in the soul's high dome; 

And beat against the positive pole in the dark 
Microcosms of gluttonous foam. 

Adhesive, quick incubating, tenacious, 

And multifarious in pelf; 
Stifling the soul, corrosive, rapacious, 

All else nothing, everything, self: 

Spawn of hell, bred below the brazen rim 

Of Pluto's chaotic regions. 
Mongrel brood whose hydrophobic senses swim 

In esoteric pools; legions 

Of venerable, dead, cosmoscopic lymph 

Which inoculates human souls. 
And makes a diable of a youthful nymph 

E'er pure love claims sweet love, and rolls 

The stone against the sepulchre of sin, 

Where rot the panegyric piles 
Which fill the cyprian palaces within 

The gates of Christian peristyles. 



Thirty -One 

Uliere blazing malefactors scorch Cupid's lips, 

And mar his beauty and his grace, 
With the poison in their hot finger tips. 

Whose lightest touch bums vivid trace 

Upon the waxen petals of the soul — 

Ghastlv imprint of demon's art 
Girt close about the flowers of the whole 

Higher nimbus of the human heart. 

Girt close about, confounding lineal gain 
Of Heaven's dower, bequeathed to youth. 

With blasphemous guilt, culminating in pain 
And ignoble love, not life in truth. 

Palsied, heinous love, juggling w4th mangled life, 
Masked in gilded panoply of shame. 

Gaunt skeleton pacing the halls of strife, 
WTiere vague cognomen answers claim 

Of profane ministry to nature's laws. 
Fulfilled only when love keeps tr\st 

With hallowed life and gently draws 
Sw^eet parentage together; which missed 

In this life, is lost until other aeons 

Of physical propagation knock 
At the doors of Love and burst in paeans 

Of harmonious life, which mock 

Quondam, immature existence of earth. 

And blend vast genealogy well 
With infinite creation, change and birth, 

Like drops of water which do swell 



Thirty- Two 

The mighty oceans to irresistible strength, 

Before which all else must yield, 
And make abysmal room for depth and length 

Profound, hemmed by stern rocks which shield 

The coast and break the beating of waves 

'Gainst opulent stretches of land 
Beyond; keeping limit of power that laves 

Their patriarchal feet, which stand 

Immovable as God's minutest thought, 

Baffling arbitrary will of man. 
Whose lesser ken of fragmentary laws brought 

High disobedience to His plan 

And over-stepped sweet Love ere dynasty drew 

Together young posterity; 
Albeit Love survived depraved and new 

Knowledge; yet the severity 

Of the penalty, blistered marvelous life 

And left inherent scars upon 
The image of All Good; and lingering strife 

Began agitation of wan 

Pestilence, until luminous life arose 

From divine art, a polluted dream 
Which surges through nature's morbid veins and 
throws 

Its poison into the swollen stream 

Of race perpetuity — anomaly 

Of death, since death does not destroy 

Life, but precedes birth — aged and grand homily 
Of accumulating pain and joy, 



Thirtv- Three 



Which do follow disembodied entity 

Into spirit realm, in vast space, 
And cling to it until calm non-entity 

Envelops Ego and leaves no trace 

Of pristine body on the dim horoscope 

Of the generic oriflamme, 
Mingles again with the whole nor strives to cope 

With detached propagation of name, 

Leaving other propelling fac-similes 

Of Living Force still pursuing 
The broken cycles of Archimides, 

Ever passing and renewing 

Themselves in paraphernalia of dust, 

After the original cast; 
Immobile since pure art and atom were thrust 

Into the harmonious, vast 

Womb of undefined life, in generic mass, 

And bequeathed to Positive Force, 
All gain in finer atom, which did surpass 

Less mobile germ in whose dumb, coarse 

Structure, voiceless elements preponderate. 
Which evolve no constructive wave 

Of original power; but do wait 
Cursory quest of mind to pave 

Limited way along larger avenues 

Of material industry, taught 
By long correspondence with essential clews 

To mysteries of being, brought 



Thirty-Four 

To concept only by action of finer 

Atom upon latent energy, 
Possessed by no structure from which diviner 

Prisms are prohibited, inherently. 

Diviner dust begat higher force in space 

And drew to itself Infinite Mind, 
Generating alchemy of superior race, 

Individualized in mankind. 

Hovering like a pale cloud, not yet condensed 

Into aqua: small, undetached part 
Of dematerialized Cause; vacuum sensed 

By dynamics in Primal Art, 

Because of elementary fitness, borne 

In cosmos of origin, prone 
To transcend physical phenomena, worn 

Constantly on sweet nature's own 

Maternal bosom, where lie clustering facts, 
Opaque to none who question profound 

Philosophy, nor exhaust their light and tax 
Most deceptive theories which sound 

Like music of truth stealing thro' their dull 

Ego, harmonies wrought before 
Untutored mind had touched all the chords and 
full 

Orchestral counter tones swept o'er 

The latent, Omnipresent Divinity 

Within — pontiff of another creed 
Wliich brings man back to First Cause — Affinity 

Most positive, mysterious, mead 



Thirty- Five 

Of no other sensitized atom, because 

Predilection of Infinite Mind 
Claimed distinguished prerogative not to pause 

In emanating sparks which left behind 

No finished portrayal of artistic race 

On monumental, rising life, 
Stayed vast progression, quo warranto, in place 

Till eclogue of creation blent rife. 

Material in grand epitome of art. 

Brought into the natal oriflamme 
Qua mentis dicta e plura unum, part 

Barren of status and of aim. 

Formative principle, prophylactic germ. 

Designed to hold superior place 
Among kindred atoms and to reaffirm 

A kinship close with a divine base. 

Familias Cognitas, by Paternal Cause 
Most lovingly treasured; since dust 

And spirit are quasi gods, made so by laws 
Eternal, omnipotent and just. 

Man disclaimed his high, ancestral, kingly mien 
And barred heir apparent from his throne 

By propinquity; and thrust his kind between 
The laws of true life and his own. 

A born aristocrat, he bartered Love for sin 

And lost his royal progeny, 
Bestowing infamous gift with which to begin 

Its march through time and eternity. 



Thirty -Six 



BEYOND THE GATES OF MIST. 

I know when we've passed beyond the Gates of Mist^ 

That guard the shore of the Beautiful Isles, 
Where perfect souls of all ages exist 

In the light of love and the warmth of smiles, 
I know we shall wander among heavenly spheres. 

With loved ones whose feet were fleeter than ours. 
Who call back to us through the lengthening years, 

Like echoes wafted from elysian bowers. 

We shall drift on the waves of crystalline streams. 

While zephyrs are pulsing with sweet melodies 
Like those that breathe through the spell of our 
dreams, 

When the kisses of angels fall on our eyes. 
We shall roam at will through the vast universe. 

Gathering sweet truths, as the gleaners the sheaf. 
And bear them to earth as loving and terse 

Proof against delinquent, crude belief. 

We will whisper them over to souls aglow. 

With the zeal of toil for love of mankind; 
And we'll walk with them as they go forth to sow, 

In jungles of error that hinder and bind 
The race, as chains the captive in leash do hold 

In obeyance to will of tyrant horde; 
But the sword of God's truth, aflame as of old. 

Shall sever all bonds and freedom accord. 

His m.inisterino; angels I know we shall be. 
Bearing ford messages, near and afar, 

In the tense, happy zeal of spirits as free 

As the ligh: waves that flash from star to star. 

We'll bend near the couch when the lips of Death 



Thirty -Seven 

Breathe frost on the brow of a little child, 
And murmur dear thoughts to the mother, whose 
breath 
Is stifled in sorrow unreconciled. 

Aye, and when the low moan of a broken heart 

Throbs on the air, like the cry of a dove, 
O'er vows that were severed by the trifler's art. 

Who masked his black lust in the garb of love, 
Our Father will hearken, and bid us good-speed 

Till we find the misguided, penitent soul, 
Who writhes in swoon agony o'er the lost meed 

Of heaven's rare gift — the libertine's toll. 

There where fair Youth lies, most wantonly slain, 

And Virtue, steeped in potion demons quaff; 
We'll weep in sweet pity o'er the ruin and pain 

Of her who gave all and garnered but chaff. 
We'll bear a dear message of pardon and peace, 

And lead away gently from the dead offense 
Into beautiful ways, where Love brings release. 

In the proof of God's law of just recompense. 

Wherever there s weeping, wherever there's sin, 

In pity He'll send us to cheer and restrain; 
For life is insistent, whether here or within. 

The veil that divides this from the Higher Plane. 
True living is doing, whether ill or renown, 

Brings soon a decision of loss or of weal ; 
'Tis not for the laurel, the harp, or the crown, 

But to do God's will and His purpose reveal. 



Thirty -Eight 



xMATED SOULS. 



The force we call a human soul 
Is but a part of that great Force 

Who fashioned it from the great Whole 
And set it on its endless course. 

But every soul, or small or great, 
Lnfinished ever must remain, 

Lntil it finds its destined mate 
And Love unites in one the twain. 

Nor walls of stone, nor bolts of steel. 
Nor leagues on leagues of land or sea, 

Are barriers 'twixt two souls that feel 
That sacred stress of unity. 

Nor plighted troth, nor practiced art 
In duty's stern though just decree, 

Can bind two mated souls apart. 
Nor change their final destiny. 

Where Love entwines his golden chain. 
And clasps it with a holy kiss, 

The hosts of earth and heaven were vain 
To break or mar a bond like this. 

The winds that fan the mountain's brow 
And lash the ocean's heaving deep. 

That drift the glens with beating snow 
And rock the nodding flower to sleep, 

Are not more free from finite powder 
To bind, or hinder, or control. 



Thirty -Nine 



Or change their course for one brief hour, 
Than is the immortal soul. 

The will of Jove, who hurls a stroke 
At some tall monarch of the wood, 

Cannot be swerved to a kindred oak, 

Nor moved to change the primal mood. 

Before this earthly life had voice, 

Each soul, in troth, its mate was given; 

Thus Love foreknows his own dear choice — 
There are no marriages in Heaven. 

'Tis Love's pure light, and Love's alone. 

Illuminates the soul's domain. 
Revealing its exalted throne, 

Where two, made one, ascend and reign. 

I reck not of the baser fires 

Which Passion kindles in the heart, 
For carnal thought and mean desires 

Will undermine the soul of Art. 

I sing of Love whose chastening beams 
Once glow within the deep recess 

Of every soul, and robe its dreams 
In tints of matchless loveliness. 

I sing of Love, that sublime zeal 

Which bums where feet of man hath trod, 
And makes the humblest being feel 

A sweet companionship with God. 



Forty 



SWEET THOUGHTS. 



Sweetest thoughts, like loving angels, 
Come to us in saddest hours 

Reviving us like heavenly dewdrops 
Kissing drooping, faded flowers. 

Messages are they from Heaven, 
Borne to earth on spotless wings, 

Teaching us that calm submission 

Alone true peace and solace brings. 

Oh, when shadows gather o'er me. 
Come, sweet thoughts, dispel the gloom 

Let your presence be like roses 
Giving out their rich perfume. 



WHEN THE CHILDREN HAVE ALL GONE 
AWAY. 

The house is deserted and silent. 
The clock seeming softly to say, 

How cheerless it is and how lonely 
For the children have all gone away! 

No footfalh are heard on the threshold. 

No laughing carousal of glee; 
And their playthings are wholly dejected — 

Mute tokens appealing to me. 

How deep and profound is the stillness 
That reigns in each vacated room; 

But the memory of those who are absent 
Lingers like some sweet perfume. 



Forty- One 

As I sit here and think it all over, 

I feel it so plainly today. 
How lonely Fll be in the future 

When the children have all gone away. 

They're only to make a week's visit 

With Grandma and Grandpa — ^that's all; 

But it gives me a glimpse of the moment 
When the mandates of duty shall call, 

And they, as brave men and true women, 

Must answer and fall into line. 
And march unfalteringly onward 

In the pathway their callings assign. 

I shall sit in my soft-cushioned rocker. 
And waiting and thinking all day, 

I fear I shall grow weary and anxious, 
And my dark locks be turning to gray. 

I'll wonder what each one is doing; 

And where each wanderer may be; 
If there is shadow or sunshine. 

And if they are thinking of me. 

Then I'll lay down the book I am reading. 
And look at their pictures once more, 

'Till each one is covered with kisses. 
As I've kissed their sweet faces before. 

Then through Memory's hallways resounding, 
Their fleet-falling footsteps I'll hear; 

And lifting my glad eyes to greet them, 
No children, alas, will be near. 



Forty- Two 

The house is deserted and silent, 
The clock seeming softly to say, 

How cheerless it is and how lonely 
For the children have all gone away. 

Though distance may stretch far between us, 
As our pathways in life draw apart, 

There'll be ever the same little circle 
Unbroken in the depths of my heart. 



OH, BRING ME THE ROSES TODAY. 

When the last feeble accent is spoken 

And dies like a tender refrain, 
You will weep o'er the ties that are broken. 

And wish them united again. 

When you mingle your tears with the flowers 

You lovingly strew on my bier. 
And you speak of the many sweet hours 

My presence has brought to you here. 

Will you think of the long years of sadness 
It seemed there were none to approve? 

How my heart would have bounded with gladness 
To know that you bore me such love. 

Oh, then I will not hark to your weeping, 

Nor heed to your passionate sighs; 
And your tears will not waken my sleeping, 

Nor kindle a beam in my eyes. 

Though you cull from the sunniest bowers, 
Oh, what would it matter to me? 



Forty- Three 



I would feel not the breath of the flowers 
Though fragrant and balmy it be. 

Then wait not till the summer is ended 
And winter lies cold on my brow, 

But gather the garlands intended 
And bring them to comfort me now. 

What wisdom is there in concealing 
The sunbeams that brighten the room? 

Then tell me your tenderest feeling 
Nor keep it for ears that are dumb. 

Then bring what you have to the living 
To brighten life's wearisome way, 

Tis now I have need of your giving 
Oh bring me the roses today. 

TO NINA. 

Not very many years ago — 

One Christmas eve, it was, 
That Pa and I a gift received 

From good old Santa Glaus. 

Upon the earth the snow was spread — 

A mantle of pure white; 
The stars were twinkling overhead. 

The moon was shining bright. 

O'er all the world were happy hearts, 

And merry, sparkling eyes. 
For well they knew old Santa Glaus 

Had many a glad surprise. 

Now, can you tell me what he brought 
To us that Christmas eve? 



Forty-Four 



'Tvvas something sweet, a treasure rar( 
You can guess it, I believe. 

"Oh, heaps of pretty things I know. 
Though it puzzles me to tell 

Just what it was old Santa brought 
That pleased you both so well." 

A jewel brighter far than all 

The gems of richest hue. 
You cannot guess? then I will tell, 

The gift he brought was you. 

A sweet bequest we thought it then — 
A blessing sent from Heaven; 

That comforts us from day to day; 
Your age is now eleven. 



IS MARRIAGE A FAILURE? 

"Is marriage a failure?" That's the question you 
ask. 
I have often heard that query before; 
But to prove that it isn't is a very slight task, 
Nor will it require half the witness in store — 
Not half the witness in store. 

To that sweet, shy creature we will first defer, 
Who leans on a masculine arm with such pride. 

Do you think she would say, if you should ask her, 
That she'd rather be a maiden than a bride? 
I don't think she would, do you? 



Forty -Five 

Do you think she would change, for one brief hour, 
Her present position of consummate bliss, 

For the happiest state of a spinster's dower? 
Or forego the rapture of a husband's kiss? 
I don't think she would, do you? 

And that gentle faced woman, with matronly air, 
Who holds to her bosom a fair, golden head. 

Do you think to this question that she would declare, 
She would rather be single again than be wed? 
I don't think she would, do you? 

Do you think for the boon of sweet motherhood. 
She would take in its stead a free single! life? 

Would she change to a maiden again if she could. 
And bear nevermore the sweet title of wife? 
I don't think she would, do you? 

There's grandmother, sitting in the old rocking 
chair. 
Where the sunlight falls in loving caress; 
Though of sorrow and suffering she's had a full 
share. 
Do you think to this question she'd answer you 
yes? 

I don't think she would, do you? 

You say I have argued from my own point of view, 
And, being a woman, my proof is remiss 

In showing what men think, or what they will do, 
When left to their choice in a matter like this. 
I'll show you what they will do. 

I've observed it's a rule with the average man, 
WTien one wife dies and he's soothed his distress. 



Forty -Six 

To marry again just as soon as he can, 

Which proves that he thinks it a brilliant success. 
I think that it does, don't you? 

Now I think if this question were put to a test, 
This point would be unanimously carried; 

That marriage is seldom a failure unless — 
Unless when people fail to get married. 
I think this is true, don't you ? 



THE CITY. 

The shadows of evening have blended 
With the gaslight's flickering glow; 

Though late, and the daylight is ended, 
There is hurrying to and fro. 

For the city seems never to slumber 
Nor rest from its labors an hour; 

Each day but increases the number 
That marks its progress and power. 

The struggle for wealth and position, 
The struggle for life and for bread 

Bring thousands who seek for admission 
To join the hurrying tread. 

Like the rapid flow of the river 
That sweeps its borders along, 

Flows the tide of humanity ever 
In a restless, changeful throng. 



Forty -Seven 



I looked on the turmoil in wonder 
And thought of the faces I scanned, 

How many brave ships had gone under 
Ere sighting the promised land? 

Some were freighted with treasures 

They brought from the harvest of gold, 

Yet eagerly heaped up the measures 
To all their limits would hold. 

I saw the gay youth in his glory. 
The middle-aged man in his prime; 

And others who told a dark story 
Of shame, dishonor and crime. 

And women in deep degradation — 
But why should I stop to condenm? 

For God alone knows the temptation 
That lay in the pathway for them. 

The rich, the poor, the servants of fashion 
All mingled together were seen; 

And the pale haggard victims of passion 
Like spectres were crowded between. 

I gazed in silence and pity 

On the weak ones sinking beneath; 

For the darkness that fell o'er the city 
Was to them like the shadow of death. 



CHRISTMAS BELLS. 

I'rom mountain top, o'er field and hill. 
In humble cot and mansion grand, 



Forty- Eight 

In every clime, in every land, 
Burst cheerful sounds with joyful thrill. 

The holly and the mistletoe 

In graceful garlands are entwined; 
And timid maidens blush to find 

The forfeit due. 'Twas ever so. 

Tis Christmas time, dear Christmas time, 
And out upon the frosty air 
Floats songs of gladness everywhere, 

And merry bells in chorus chime. 

Ring, ring sweet bells, in wildest mirth. 
And waft the tidings of that morn — 
A babe in Bethlehem is born. 

Who brings good will and peace on earth. 

A bright star rose from out the east 
To guide the wise men where He lay; 
So He hath risen o'er our way 

To lead us into perfect rest. 

AT LAST. 

Soon the sombre clouds shall drift apart 

And leave the heartening sunshine streaming 
through; 
So shall be lifted from the weary heart 

The doubts and fears that keep its goal from 
view. 

Soon shall Winters frigid reign be o'er. 

And soft winged zephyrs speed the birth of June; 



Forty-Nine 

The flowers will be as fragrant as before, 

And happy song birds wake in blithesome tune. 

It needs be that shadows intervene. 

Else constant sunlight blight the tender flowers 
That sleep in Winter's clasp, serene, 

'Till wooed awake by April's gentle showers. 

So our hopes are oftentimes obscured. 

Our lives seemed locked, congealed, in Fate's 
embrace, 
But that which we have patiently endured, 

Brings, at last, new beauty, strength and grace. 



THE OLD RAIL FENCE. 

Yer may talk about ther beauty, ther elegance an' 

ease 
Uv yer modern household fixin's, yer sofys an' 

settees, 
Yer han'some cheers, all kivered 'uth purty silk 

or plush, 
'Till when yer sot down on 'em yer'd expect ter 

hear 'em crush; 
But I'm doggoned, ef ter me ther height uv elegance 
Ain't a settin', restin', on ther top uv er ole rail 

fence. 

In them roastin' days o' summer, in June an' in July, 
When ther harves' times is rushin' an' corn is 

shoulder high, 
An' everybody's humpin' an' sweatin' like all git out, 
'Ith not er breeze er blowin' ter stir ther air erbout. 



Fifty 

Jest let me tell yer, ther's ther highest sort uv 

sense 
Uv ease an' comfort settin' on top uv er ole rail 

fence. 

Mebby yer don't think it's nothin' ter tramp ther 
whole day through, 

From one end ther fiel' ter t'other, sometimes 
drippin' wet 'ith dew 

From plowin' in the mornin', an' then git blazin' 
hot 'fore noon; 

But I'm thinkin' if yer tried hit yer'd hustle mighty 
soon 

Ter that cool shady spot, ner stop to ask the con- 
sequence. 

An' drink that clare spring water an' set on the 
ole rail fence. 

I rickerleck when me an' Bill he'ped in tendin' 

uv ther craps, 
When the tassels on the corn waved like plumes in 

Injun's caps, 
An' ther blades jest cut our faces at every step 

we made 
Like Injun skelpin' knives, an' made us long the 

wuss for shade — 
How often we looked up to pap with burnin' 

elerquence. 
Then to'rd that sparklin' spring an' a seat on ther 

ole rail fence. 

How pap he looked at ther rows er corn an' 

squinted at the sun; 
An' 'lowed ter hisself, we couldn't stop tell our 

task was done, 



Fifty -One 

So we kep' nippin' an' tuckin', er thinkin' all 

ther while 
That every one o' them air rows 'ud measure 'most 

a mile; 
But we didn't grumble none, kase we knowed our 

recompense 
Was er drink from ther spring an' er seat on ther 

ole rail fence. 

I've been erbout ther world er heap, an' seed my 

share o' fun. 
But I'm gittin' old, 'n I reckon my race is most 

nigh run; 
But in all my time I ain't had no sech pleasure 

sence 
As I found a restin' on top o' ther ole rail fence 



THE MOTHER S FLOWER. 

'Twas a tranquil night. 

The stars shone bright, 
And the summer breezes whispered low 

The night bird's song 

Soft trilled along 
Where sombre shadows come and go. 

The angels sped 

With noiseless tread 
From the sinless shores of Aiden; 

They stooped and pressed 

My Maudie's breast, 
And smiling, said, "Shall sorrow laden, 



Fifty- Two 

This spotless child?" 

Then sweetly smiled. 
Oh, Death, I cried, take not this flower, 

But let it bloom 

On earth, the tomb 
Hath borne the one to grace thy bower. 

"Nay, heart," cried he 

'Tis best for thee. 
Still darker days are yet before. 

The storms of woe 

May fiercer blow 
And this must feel their chill no more. 

Let not thy sleep 

Its lids o'er-creep 
Nor tear it from my tender arms. 

How lone and drear 

Would life be here 
If thou shouldst hide from me its charms. 

"Nay," Death replied, 

"Thou must not chide 
The stern tho just decree of Heaven 

Bright in its bowers 

Grow radiant flowers 
Like this, by weeping mothers given. 

Bewail thee not 

Thy dreary lot. 
Of grief all have full measure, 

On Aiden's shore 

Forevermore, 
Thou shalt clasp again thy treasure." 



Fifty- Three 



Cold on its breast 

Death s fingers pressed. 
'Tis done, 'tis done, the tie is broken, 

And bending near 

I dropped a tear 
Upon it's cheek — a farewell token. 

With noiseless tread 

The angels sped 
Through the ever mystic portals. 

The door swings wide 

And swift they glide 
Beyond the longing view of mortals. 



BEYOND THE BEAUTIFUL CLOUDS. 

Far beyond the beautiful clouds that lie 
Heap upon heap in the warm, blue sky, 
Like temples of white with curtains of gold 
And ivory, thrown over each filmy fold, 
With pillars of pearl and precious stone 
That sparkle and glow in tints of their own, 
Methinks are mansions more wonderful still, 
Wrought in designs of such exquisite skill. 
That no eyes of mortal hath ever perceived 
A tithe of their beauty, so rich and so rare, 
That charm and enrapture the dwellers there. 

Though shadows surround me, and mists intervene 
To hide from my vision this heavenly scene, 
I see a sweet spirit, so radiant and fair, 
The sunlight rippling in the waves of her hair, 



Fifty -Four 

And the lovelight glowing in the depths of her eyes 

That rival in color the blue of the skies. 

Ah, who can it be — this beautiful creature, 

So perfect in form, so angelic in feature? 

It is she! It is she! who passed ere I knew 

The love of a mother so dear and so true. 

She pressed to her bosom her firstborn and pride, 

And kissed her tenderly and oft ere she died. 

Oh, Death, in thy wanderings, why should it be 

meet 
To choose a fair creature, so young and so sweet? 
But many a long year has fled into the past. 
And the token she left has felt the cold blast 
Of tempests so wild, so frigid and long. 
That life seemed bereft of its tenderest song. 
She grew into womanhood, was wedded and blessed. 
And clasped her own first-born in joy to her breast; 
But brief were her smiles, and brief was his stay, 
For dark winged Azrael bore him away. 

There's another sweet angel I see in the group, 
With soft, laughing eye o'er which dark lashes 

droop ; 
She faded from earth, and we laid her away 
'Neath dead leaves and mosses, one chill autumn 

day. 
Our footsteps fall gently on the grass near her tomb, 
And robins sing sweetly when spring flowers 

bloom; 
And when summer is smiling in meadows and trees, 
A requiem is whispered in every low breeze, 
And the moonlight kisses the spot where we laid 
Our sweet, dead blossom, in the cold bed we made. 



Fifty -Five 

Ah, yes, I see, though my vision be dim. 

The glorified being and presence of him 

W^o caught the first lispings that fell from my 

tongue 
And taught my frail feet to wander among 
The woodlands and meadows, and pastures of green, 
And down by the brook that sparkled between 
Low banks, where tall rushes and willows combined 
With ferns and with mosses to keep it confined 
^\h, yes, it is he — it is grandfather's face — 
Every dear feature I lovingly trace. 
He looks just the same as he used to — smiling on 

me — 
When in childish freedom I climbed on his knee! 

The red Sun in driving through the gates of Day, 
And Night's dusk curtains fall over his way. 
My day dream has vanished, and mystery shrouds 
All that I saw beyond the beautiful clouds. 



CUPID'S MESSAGE. 



Sing, my linnet, sing to me! 

Let your notes thrill clear and free! 

Sing lithesomely. 

Aye, b lithesomely. 
Lift fading joys to life anew, 
As flowers lift for morning dew 
And drink until a lovelier hue 
Diffuses sweeter fragrance through 
The languid, dreamy atmosphere! 
Sing, my linnet, sweet and clear! 



Fifty -Six 



I'll catch the music of your notes 
As it outpours and upward floats — 
Medley learned from morning's choirs 
Before Aurora lit her fires 
'Mid night's array of sleepy stars 
Still watching when the shining bars 
Of smiling day slipped out across 
Yon sky where soft clouds toss 
Like white ships drifting through the air 
To meet along the margin where 
Mist and shadows fling themselves 
Against the moon, like spiteful elves, 
Who hide behind bold Cupid's bow 
And license him to aim below 
Love's ardent wish and send his dart 
Swift cleaving through another heart, 
As lightning pierces through some fane 
And leaves a priest among the slain 
And dying. 



Appeal from slain to slayer proves 

'Tis our impotent will which moves 

Unbridled in its ceaseless quest 

For love's sweet mate at Love's behest; 

And, listening with all nature tense, 

Is ill equipped to make defense 

Against misleading mysteries 

Which do but thwart Love's prophecies. 

And make dear preference long delayed 

'Till sweet Ipernia's blossoms fade 

And lose their fragrance and their smile 

Upon the vase that held them while 

They bloomed. 



Fifty -Seven 



As wraith of some departed bliss, 
Still lingering 'round a lover's kiss, 
Like perfume of a faded rose 
Which stirs with every breeze that blows 
And wakes anew love's sweet refrain, 
And brings his image back again 
To make avowals of the truth 
Which gave dear promises to youth, 
But seemed to leave them unfulfilled 
Until another aim, more skilled, 
Kept tryst with life and measured love 
His full bequest. 



WHERE IS HAPPINESS. 

Is it in stately halls where tread 
The dainty, slippered feet? 

Or where the royal feast is spread 
And witty jesters meet? 

Not there, not there. 

Is it in fashion's gay domain 
Where pampered belle and beau 

Present to view a gorgeous train 
Of elegance and show? 

Not there, not there. 



Is it where sparkling wines are poured. 
And drunk in mirthful toast. 

By those who gather 'round the board 
Their skill and deeds to boast? 
Not there, not there. 



Fifty -Eight 

It must be then, in costly church, 
Whose steeples pierce the skies. 

Where saintly pastors make research 
For all that's grand and wise. 
Not there, not there. 

Oh! tell me then, thou aged one. 
Whose footsteps on the sands, 

Point toward that shore, where, all alone, 
The Stygian boatman stands. 
Is it there, is it there? 

Nay search the heart whose highest aim 
Is good and just toward all; 

Who trusts in God and works the same 
Though weal or ill befall, 
'Tis there, 'tis there. 



SOMEWHERE. 

Somewhere, there is a realm, beyond this fretful 
sphere. 
Where all the vague, mysterious things that are 
concealed 
From mortal sight and mind's conception here, 
In all their glorious fullness shall be revealed. 

And somewhere, all for which our souls have 
yearned. 
All the grand, sublime which we have struggled 
to attain, 
Shall stand before our eyes, like vanished dreams 
returned, 
And what we deemed our loss shall be eternal 
gain. 



Fifty-Nine 

SWEETHEART IF ALL THE WORLD WERE 
MINE. 

Sweetheart, if all the world were mine and you 
were not; 
Though soft, entrancing beauty, like an artist's 
fairy dream, 
Lay upon the landscape and kissed each desert spot, 
How desolate and barren without you all would 
seem. 

Sweetheart, though Heaven itself, were mine and 
you not there; 
Though ail I loved on earth should meet and 
bid my soul rejoice; 
Though fragrant zephyrs breathe celestial music 
everywhere, 
'Twould be but discord without the charm of 
your sweet voice. 

Sweetheart, when I have passed the sphere where 
death unbars 
The gates that closed before my soul and kept 
it from its own, 
And I shall go in search of you among the stars. 
Should I find you not Td be forevermore alone, 
alone. 

Sw^eetheart, I know whatever course your soul may 
take 
In its happy flight through space 'twill leave 
a lighted way, 
That I may follow through the lofty, starlit wake 
And we'll be again united some sweet, eternal 
day. 



Sixty 

Sweetheart, I'll press you to my breast and hold 
you close 
In holy consciousness of your sweet, living 
power and love; 
And kiss always the lips that spoke no tryst save 
those 
Which angels hear and keep recorded in life's 
tomb above. 



WHERE ART THOU. 

Oh, love, where art thou? I cannot tell. 

But yesterday we roamed through earthland 
bowers; 
And on my famished lips your tender kisses fell, 

Like sweetest honey dew on thirsting flowers. 

We walked together, love, but yesterday; 

Yes, pressing hand in hand and heart to heart; 
Nor dreaming, aye, so soon, along the same dear 
way 

That one should wander from the other, far apart. 

I asked the fleeing winds from Sunset Land, 
If, on their shores, they knew a maiden rare 

With rose-tint cheeks and slender, lily hand, 
And rouguish locks of tawny, silken hair. 

And then a royal, odorous zephyr came 

From the spicy, Southland's ocean-girted isles, 

I said, "Mayhap there they knew thy charmed 
name, 
Or had caught a gleam of thy bewitching smiles." 



Sixty- One 



But oh, love, my own lost love, they said me nay; 

And sped away through space, or near or far 
I cannot tell, so like thee they sped away. 

Like thee, who knows? — to some undiscovered 



star. 



A SYLVAN RETREAT. 

Oh, you who are weary of life's meager dole 
Of blessings and pleasures, of rest and respose. 

Come quaff the sweet nectar Nature pours for the 
soul 
In a sylvan retreat; 'twill vanquish your woes. 

Here are deep forests of elms and of oaks, 

That stand in their grandeur like monarchs of old. 

Wrapped in the folds of their leaf woven cloaks, 
'Mid carpets of emerald, of purple and gold. 

Here the moss margined river gracefully glides 
Through valleys of verdure and shady retreat: 

Now merrilv it murmurs, now shyly it hides 

Where willows clasp hands and tall rushes meet. 

And miniature mountains abruptly uprise, 
Forming a precipice under whose brink 

The waterfall dances and twinkles its eyes 
When the sweet, wild roses bend over to drink. 

Whose walls are draped over with flowing festoons. 
And vine woven curtains which Nature hung 
there. 

Through dew scented dawTis and langorous noons, 
They rustle and sway in the redolent air. 



Sixty- Two 

And the crab apple trees that grow on the hill, 
Drop pink petaled blossoms in the river below; 

And down in the valley pipes the weird whippoor- 
will 
Where alders are nodding their helmets of snow. 

Where fireflies are dancing to the rhythmical tune 
"Thrummed by the crickets on their shrill tam- 
bourines" 
Till their echoes are caught on the sweet breath of 
June 
And wafted away through the darkening ravines. 

And when the smile of Aurora first flushes the east, 
Oh, what a symphony from Nature is given! 

A thousand sweet carols float down from the nests. 
As though a thousand harps were suspended 
from Heaven. 

Oh, magical sweetness! Oh, landscape of green! 

Where Beauty lies dreaming on Summers soft 
breast. 
The soul is enchanted with the lovely scene. 

And the exquisite charms of this haven of rest. 



RECOGNITION. 

In the midst of a dank and darksome nook 

A beautiful blossom grew. 
She blushed by the rim of a murky brook, 
Nor deigned into its stagnant depths to look, 
But a nectared draught from heaven partook — 

Her chalice brimming with dew. 



Sixty- Three 

No footstep had pressed the virgin sod 

Of her lowly dwelling place. 
No kindred answered her friendly nod. 
No shy wood violet or goldenrod; 
And none had seen, save the eye of God, 

The charm of her simple grace. 

Not even the winds, on gossip bent, 

Whispered a word of her worth. 
When she opened her heart with sweet intent 
They fiercely beat her till their rage was spent, 
Then away, with a mocking laugh, they went 
To the balmy isles of earth. 

"I shall open some day," the blossom cried, 

"In a flood of golden shine. 
I shall reach my realm if faith abide, 
Dream where clear waters dimple and glide. 
And bloom with my kindred by my side. 

Touching their lips to mine." 

"Your realm, indeed," sneered an ugly weed, 
"How much wiser are you than I, 

Or better, than you crave a richer mead. 

And for a loftier existence plead?" 

"You are self-conceited we're all agreed," 
Hissed the snake as he wriggled by. 

"Quite true, quite true," piped the poison oak 

From a fast decaying tree. 
"She's vain beside," said the frog with a croak. 
"And seeks to ignore superior folk 
Who deem her airs but a splendid joke," 

The owl hooted dismally. 



Sixty -Four 

Alone in the place the blossom stood; 

She hid her fair face and wept. 
Her white lips mute, in disconsolate mood 
She bowed through the long night's solitude, 
And moaned, till a sunbeam, golden hued, 

Over her damp brow crept. 

Springing from her bed with a joyful cry, 
She caught the beam to her heart 

And pressed it close till her tears were dry; 

Then, smilingly lifting her face to the sky, 

She kissed the zephyrs as they loitered by 
And made them sweet by the art. 

Soon along that way a florist strolled 

In search of specimens rare; 
To him the redolent zephyrs told 
The story of the blossom with heart of gold. 
And waxen petals, laid fold on fold, 

So fragrant and so fair. 

"Sweet blossom," he cried, "you shall not hide 

Your exquisite beauty here. 
My swards are green and my gardens wide, 
Where clear brooks sparkle and murmur and glide, 
You shall bloom with your kindred by your side. 

There in your fitting sphere." 

And now in that fair, congenial place, 

'Neath amethyst tinted skies. 
She lifts her head with bewitching grace. 
And a blush steals over her lovely face 
When the sunbeamg hold her in warm embrace 

And kiss the dew from her eyes. 



Sixty- Five 

The winds that mocked her, the fickle things, 

Sing her praises everywhere. 
Stealing far and near, on soft, pulsing wings. 
They waft the sweet, ambrosial offerings. 
Which, from her fragrant heart she brings 

And pours upon them there. 



GRANDFATHER'S BIBLE. 

'Tis old and worn, and its leaves are torn. 

And dim are its sacred pages; 
But its truths divine like jewels shine 

Unchanged by the flight of ages. 

I remember well the holy spell 

That came with the twilight shadows. 

When the whippoorwill piped on the hill. 
And the crickets chirped in the meadows. 

The katydid's trill, now soft now shrill, 
Ran the same strain over and over; 

And sweet zephyrs came from fields aflame 
With odorous blooms of clover. 

Then grandfather took this blessed book 
From its place on the oldfashioned table; 

And gleaned from its store of treasured lore 
Wisdom more wondrous than fable. 

And the olden hymn, well thumbed and dim, 

We sang to the common metre; 
Brokenly he, I lispingly — 

Yet what music could have been sweeter? 



Sixty- Six 

With peaceful air, in the old arm chair 

Sat grandmother, silently listening; 
With the candle light, so soft yet bright, 

On her spectacle glasses glistening. 

Then reverently we bowed, we three, 

And grandfather's voice, in tremulous falter, 

Arose in prayer for our Father's care, 
Like incense from a holy altar. 

And when I look at this blessed book 

I almost fancy I hear him, 
And see his dear face in the same old place. 

And grandmother sitting near him. 

But those days are gone and the years speed on 

To join their comrades hoary; 
Yet sweet memories, like sunset skies, 

Reflect their hallowed glory. 

Aye, 'tis long ago! and the drifting snow 
O'er barren fields and hills is driven: 

But over the dead 'tis softly spread 
Like a mantle cast from Heaven. 



TODAY AND TOMORROW. 

What though today be gloomy, 
And in despair we grope; 

Tomorrow may be bloomy 
With roseate beams of hope. 



Sixty-Seven 



What though the storm clouds thicken, 

The sky be overcast, 
Though lightning flashes quicken 

The tempest's roaring blast. 

The sun will shine tomorrow. 
The clouds will disappear. 

The tears of care and sorrow 
Give place to smiles of cheer. 



THE OLD YEAR AND THE NEW. 

The Old Year is dead ; and over his form 
The dust of the past is silently creeping; 

And shrill, chilly winds, once tuneful and warm. 
Shriek wild, wierd dirges where he's peacefully 
sleeping. 

The Star eyes twinkled with their unshed tears, 
And mournfully beamed through the dusky azure; 

And Night was wan with the wail of the spheres 
When the corse passed by with sorrowful 
measure. 

The North Wind wrapped him in a snow flake 
shroud 

And covered him deep, but gently and slowly. 
The young Moon buried her face in a cloud 

And wept o'er a scene so solemn and holy. 

But when the last faint sigh of grief had ceased, 
A hush pervaded the soul of Nature; 

Then Time from the gates of his realm released. 
To the waiting throng a gay, blithesome creature. 



Sixty- Eight 

'Twas the fair New Year, and the winds sang wild. 
The Spheres caught the strain and kept it re- 
peating 
'Till the Moon burst from under the cloud and 
smiled, 
And the Star eyes twinkled their merriest greet- 
ing. 

So the Old Year died; and the New Year was borne 

To his crystal throne, on Morn's glancing 

pinions — 

Donned the robe and the crown the Old Year had 

worn, 

And waved his white scepter o'er his dominions. 



LIFE IN REALITY. 

When earthly scenes have faded 
And brighter ones appear, 

Beyond the mist that shaded 
Our longing visions here; 

When weary feet are resting 
Beside the heavenly gate. 

Where joy is everlasting 

For those who work and wait; 

When hands that e'er were willing 
To aid in deeds of love, 

(Thus God's great law fulfilling) 
Find their reward above; 



Sixty -Nine 



When eyes bedimmed with weeping 
And hearts that oft were sore, 

Rejoice in angels' keeping 
Upon the heavenly shore; 

Then life is just beginning 

In sweet reality, 
And souls redeemed from sinning 

Find peace eternally. 



LOVE IN JUNE. 

We stood on the porch alone, we two, 

One radiant night in June, 
And talked as lovers alone can do. 

In the light of a summer moon. 

The stars peeped down through the locust trees, 
And twinkled with pure delight; 

And every sigh of the scented breeze 
Was a sigh of love that night. 

Down in the woods a whippoorwill 

Piped shrilly his plaintive strain 
'Till another heard and from the hill 

Answered him back again. 

The crickets, too, in the meadow-way 
Chirped loudly together, and long. 

But every sound was a tender lay 
Or a measure of love's sweet song. 



Seventy 

There in the hush of that night in June 
While the world lay wrapped in dreams 

While the stars bent o'er with the smiling moon 
And tenderly kissed the streams. 

I whispered yes to my lover's words 

And a thrill of perfect bliss 
Swept over affection's sacred chords 

Answering his impassioned kiss. 



A WAKING DREAM. 

Last night my own lost love came back to me, 

My love who had been told among the dead, 
Long winter times and summers on the lea, 

With all the living promise of vows unwed 
From sorrow, beaming in her saintly face. 

Triumphantly she moved as in the sweet, 
Fair past, when she had fled to my embrace 

From all that held her captive in defeat 
Of our dear plans. Like in a dream I had. 

She looked — a waking dream — oh, hallowed pain ! 
'Twas ere the shroud replaced the robe of glad 

Design, and love relinquished earthly reign. 
I shrieked with joy, and called her darling names, 

Which none save she had heard, nor understood. 
Her answers thrilled love's embers into flames. 

Electrifying every chastened mood. 
I pressed her close and rained upon her lips 

A shower of tender kisses, as when Spring 
Awakes and finds sweet April as she slips 

The leash of Winter from her feet, entrancing 



Seventy- One 

Him with radiant countenance, and form 

Imperial; yet such semblance to life 
She bore, in sweet appeal and glances warm, 

1 marveled that 1 had mourned her dead — my 
wife. 
The same dear voice, the same angelic eyes 

That woke my slumbering soul, and lit the trai' 
Through Loveland mazes and to Paradise, 

Where my dream ship lies with languid sail. 
As I gazed, enrapt, with heavenly bliss. 

She moved apace and bade me fond adieu. 
Her white hand beckoning, she called " 'tis this 

Sweet dream, oh, love, my own, that shall come 
true!" 



MY ROSEBUD. 

Dimpled and white it lay on my breast, 

In rapturous beauty reposing; 
And it soothed my spirit, when weary, to rest. 

To behold its sweet charms disclosing. 

Each day but revealed new grace to my sight; 

With love and care I lavishly blessed it; 
But the angel of Death passed by in the night, 

With his ice cold fingers he pressed it. 

Not a sound was heard in the dark'ning wood; 

Scarce a breeze o'er the hill top sighing; 
The sun sank down in a bright, crimson flood; 

But my Rosebud, oh, it was dying! 



Seventy- Two 

Golden and glorious fair morning appears; 

And opening blossoms their sweet odor shed, 
But cold on my bosom, 'neath the dew of my tears, 

Lay my Rosebud blighted and dead. 

Sweet angels bore it to that fadeless birth. 

Where flowers are ever perfuming; 
And gently they whisper, "it budded on earth, 

But in Heaven 'tis eternally blooming. 



ON THE BIRTH OF A CHILD. 

Oh, little angel sent from above, 
Brightest jewel in the crown of love, 
Sweetest message from soul to soul. 
Holding all in your dear control; 
Link in the golden chain of life. 
Binding husband to endearing wife — 
A guest from Heaven to charm old Earth, 
We bless the day that gave you birth. 



THE RIVER OF DEATH. 

Along the shores of the River of Death 
That flows by the door of mortal life 

The spray blows up on the shivering breath 

That sweeps through the veins of human strife. 

The spray blows up and its icy rime 

Bedims the light in a baby's eyes 
As if frost had fallen in that Sunny Clime, 

And withered the buds in Paradise. 



Seventy- Three 



And withered the buds in Paradise, 

Which never should fade until they bloom 

In full revealment of the power that lies 
Buried with them in their early tomb. 

And Youth and Beauty lie side by side, 

With their dear hands clasped in pain of love; 

Their lithe forms frozen in the froth of the tide — 
Hostages to sweet fulfillment above. 

Nameless their dreams in eternity. 

Since lost on earth, unknown hereafter; 

The clanking chains of their destiny 

Slew the hope of a child's sweet laughter. 

Forever along the sand beaten shoals, 

Like drifted WTCckage from storm torn ships. 

Lie motley groups of murdered souls, 

With the white foam bubbling on their lips. 

Ever, forever, the River of Death 

Shall roll by the door of mortal life; 

And its cold spray sift on the shivering breath 
That sweeps through the veins of human strife. 



"FORSAKEN." 

While I was weeping, you laughed. 
And the measure of woe filled up; 

While you were tasting, I quaffed 
The bitterest dregs of the cup. 



Seventy- Four 



While I was sowing, you heaped 
The ashes of envy, the while; 

When ripened the harvest, I reaped 
The bitterest tear, you the smile. 

I've scattered the rose on the plain, — 
My heart concealing the thorn; 

I've sown, but the best of my grain, 
You give me but chaff in return. 

I've watched where the sufferer lay, 
To catch each low whispered moan; 

But the stones that hide in my way, 
I tread them forever alone. 

True merit you turn in the cold, 
False hearts, ye better approve 

The deeds rewarded with gold 

Than those that are wrought in love. 

Methinks the happy are those, 

Whose hearts are too strong to feel 

A pang of regret for the woes. 
That fate and misfortune reveal. 



GRAND FATHER'S GRAVE. 

No costly marble marks the place- 
No stately evergreen; 

But tangled grasses interlace 
With flowers that grow between. 



Seventy -Five 



The dear old church stands just before, 
And oft I've heard him say 

When he should come to church no more 
His body here we'd lay. 

How often I have heard him raise 
His voice to God in prayer, 

And mingling mine with his in praise 
I've worshipped with him there. 

Those happy days! they long have fled 

But memory echoes throng, 
And lingering fondly near the dead 

Awakes the dear old song. 

The song awakes — the pulses thrill — 

The heart forgets its pain, 
And gladly o'er Ae shaded hill 

I roam with him again. 

Where maples lift their towering heads 
And spread their leafy arms 

To woo each passing breeze that sheds 
Its fragrance round their charms. 

Beneath their shade we'er resting now. 

The doves are cooing near; 
And just below the hills' green brow 

The cooling spring flows clear. 

Then through the orchard way we pass 

Where fruit in tempting heaps 
Lies thickly on the dewy grass — 
The best Pomona keeps. 



Seventy-Six 



But oh in memory alone, 
Those grassy paths I tread, 

While perfumed zephyrs softly moan 
A requiem o'er the dead. 

Sing sweetly, oh, ye birds today! 

Oh, grasses, gently wave! 
Sigh low, each scented breeze of May 

Around grandfather's grave. 



TO A MASTER POET. 

Where were they born, those deathless songs? 

Thy wondrous harp, where was it wrought? 
In some pure sphere to which belongs 

The essence of sublimest thought? 

Where subtle sweetness fills the air 
And laughing fountains ever play; 

And pulsing zephyrs, everywhere 
Awake some sweet, enchanting lay. 

Methinks, oh, poet, it was there 

Thy soul up-wafting songs had birth, 

While seraphs minstrels waited near 
To bear thy tuneful harp to earth. 



MY FANCY LAND. 

Far away is a land where my fancy oft dwells, 
'Mony flowers and song birds and fountains; 

Where sweet melodies float through blossoming 
dells 
And die on the evergreen mountains. 



Seventy -Sevgn 

There sparkle calm rivers, so clear and so bright, 
With smiling, blue skies over bending 

Which shut out, forever, the shadows of night 
With a veil of ethereal blending. 

Swiftly as an eagle bends upward its flight, 

My thoughts speed away through the shadows. 

Unheeding all else, with a thrill of delight. 
They roam through thy sunny, wide meadows. 

Oh, home of my fancy! Oh, sweet spirit land! 

How dreamy thy song luted bowers! 
How softly the wavelets beat on the sand! 

How gently the cool spray showers! 

Oh, feast on its beauties, my famishing soul! 

'Twill lessen the sting of thine anguish. 
Where else cans't thou feel such blissful control. 

Where else cans't thou dwell but to languish? 



GENERA FIDELIS. 

Lying along yon opal space 
Are glowing worlds whose orbits trace 
Eternal sweep of government 
Beyond upper scope of firmament, 
Which drops its shadowy folds between 
Flung to view on Nights vellum screen, 
Nude satellites and gorgeous suns 
So swung upon their poles each runs, 
Centrifugally, from a point 
Propelled by momentum in joint, 
But, centripetal, equal force 



Seventy -Eight 

To keep their movements true to course 

Imposed by common need of life 

Of universe, which must cease if strife 

Began among primal environ. 

Broken law entails iron 

Rod of punition where no guilt 

Arraigned against the law and built 

Barricade before ideal 

Beauty, which bringeth forth real 

Abortion in the name of law. 

Then shouts, " 'Twas nature made the flaw," 

Perfection begeteth perfection. 

Malformation is reflection 

Of refractory elements — 

Alien, organic malcontents — 

Which bring heterogeneous shapes 

In the misanthropy of apes, 

And vagrant visages truant 

To law, yet to thought pursuant. 

Cling to initial biology, 

Girding artistic chronology 

As dual force serves to balance 

Worlds. A meridian line askance? 

Aye, when circles m.ove in a square; 

And negative centres are aglare 

With irradiant light, blinding solar 

King and transplanting to polar 

Zones, his tropical cycles, till 

Torrid regions cease to bloom and fill 

With avalanche of snow, between 

Glacier mountains, steep and crystalline. 

Anthropological elements 

Bear intimate relation to sense. 

Kernel must keep indenture of shell; 

Thus Mind fashioned by cerebral cell, 



Seventy-Nine 

And cerebral cell by parent mind 
Is shaped, dallying thoughts outlined 
And stenciled against interior wall, 
Like portraits in lineal hall, 
Leaning, face looking into face, 
Motley kith lingering on apace — 
Like our conceptions, wrong and right, 
Brought out in shadings dark and light, 
But this digression begins at birth. 
One retrogrades, the other, earth, 
Yields to fealty in the creature 
Enlarging every ornate feature. 
Conjointly, with truant kindred. 
(By no law of nature hindered) 
However youth may loathe the payment 
Of the score, no qualm restores the way meant 
In the beginning; but Dust shall bide 
All prior lapses into the tide 
Of broken obligation. 



LOVE. 

In every heart are silent strings. 

Where slumbers, dreamless, still them; 

Nor stirred by sighs, nor whisperings, 
Until loves fingers thrill them. 

But, oh, what sweet, enchanted strains. 
When Cupid's touches wake them! 

And Heaven alone breaths such refrains — 
Tis angel's harps that make them. 



Eighty 



But angels sing of love, they say, 

Then love is born in Heaven; 
And breaths through each seraphic lay, 

The softest cadence given. 

Upon the ancient harps there hung, 
The same sweet spell, through ages; 

What kings and knights forgot, was sung. 
By poets, bards and sages. 

Then love shall wake my sleeping lyre 
And while the spell is o'er me. 

This theme I'll sing — the soul's pure fire- 
Since angels sing before me. 

Though deep I pour my soul in verse. 

To love's immortal glory — 
Sing what I may, I but rehearse 

The oft repeated story. 

Repeated oft in listening ear. 

Of many a trusting maiden; 
Who answered back with blush and tear, 

(The measure Cupid weighed in.) 

Though I may sing 'neath wintry skies — 
In Springtime's balmy hour; 

Or when fair Summer softly lies 
O'er hillside, mead and bower. 

Not half the sweets would then be sung, 

And hidden half its beauty; 
Since all have tasted — old and young, 

And deem it but a duty. 



Eighty -One 



THE MUSICIANS QUEEN 



My violin, my queen, come lean on mv breast 
X'^Tiile thy dear form pulses upon my warm heart 

\^ ith the thrill of emotions and \isions expresst 
In the heavenly passions and spirit of art. 

Though love's tender tones may linger and die 
On lips the fairest that ever were seen. 

They stir not my soul like the tremulous sigh 
That breathes in thy bosom, my violin, my queen. 

My rest when I'm wear\". my solace when sad: 
There's naught that is noble thou dost not inspire 

My love and my life, my joy when I'm glad — 
The flame that enkindles ambition's desire. 

Companions in life, in death we shall rest. 

My cold fingers pressing thv mute strings 
between : 
But they'll wake not the songs that sleep in thy 
breast — 
Together we'll slumber, my \-iolin. my queen. 



RECOMPENSE. 

Oh hearts bowed down, ye shall not keep 

A constant tryst w*ith sorrow. 
Ye shall dream and drift into peaceful sleep 
And wake on a joyous morrow. 

Then even.- sigh shall be a song, 

And every tear a jewel: 
And every hour of suffered wrong 

Be fraught w4th love's renewal. 



Eighty- Two 

WHEN YOU ARE AWAY. 

When you are away, dear one, 

My heart's delight, 
Een a summer day has no sun, 

No stars the night. 

Summer has no laughing June, 

No laughing June; 
And night has no silver moon, 

No silver moon. 

Life is a sea with no breeze 

To speed my craft. 
I wait mid motionless degrees 

Loves potent draught. 

My soul awakes as from sleep 
With each look and word; 

As the waters of the silent deep 
By strong winds are stirred. 

My heart's like a bird, but still 
As a dead bird's wing, 

'Till your tender accents thrill 
It to fluttering. 



MISSOURL 

'Mong the great sisterhood she sits like a queen, 
Enshrined in rare beauty and graces serene, 
Which mantle her hillsides and valleys between 



Eighty- Three 



King Plenty rules over her fertile domain, 
Where fruit laden slope and billowy plain 
Stretch out to the margins of wide fields of grain! 

Her flame fields of clover, the meadow lark there, 
Pouring flute carols on the redolent air — 
A song of adoration to his mate most fair! 

Her cool streams dappled with sunshine and shade 
'Neath the green umbrellas the elm trees have 

made — 
And grape vines atangle with tendrils like braid ! 

Her forests of grandeur, her wild, rocky steeps, 
Where miniature waterfall splashes and leaps — 
And windtossed branches shower nuts down in 
heaps ! 

Where lazy kine wander through lush pasture way. 
With sheep bells a-tinkle and lambkins at play. 
And fleetfooted steeds trumpet answering neigh! 

Oh, her wild rose of June time — its frangrance and 

bloom 
Are richer and fairer in blush and perfume 
Than the rarest exotics where palaces loom! 

Her bird songs are sweetest, and all the lute strains. 
Lilting and lingering in the long shady lanes, 
Mingle in benedictions with soft summer rains! 

Her deep stores of mineral, so varied and vast, 
Lie 'neath her warm bosom just where they were 

cast 
From the full hand of Nature, who smiled as She 

passed 



Eighty- Four 

Her schools and her churches, aye, pay to them 

dole- 
Temples of intellect and shrines of the soul — 
Light towers of progress — humanity's goal! 

Her sons and her daughters, brave hosts of them — 
And thousands of children — her thousand-rayed 

gem 
That twinkles and sparkles in her diadem! 

All these and ten thousand dear charms still unsung 
Cluster around her and shimmer among 
Her tresses like stars in the firmament hung — 
Missouri 1 



LINES TO AN AGED FRIEND. 



I bring to thee a fragrant wreath 

Of tender thoughts and wishes kind. 

Like dewy roses' scented breath 

With new blown violets intertwined. 



I bend and lay it reverently 
Lpon thy aged, gentle brow; 
And thank a loving God that He 
Doth bless us with thy presence now. 

The sun is sinking in the west, 

'Gainst clouds of amber, pearl and gold; 
Sweet harbingers are they of rest 

When thy dear feet have reached the fold 



Eighty- Five 



Long hast thou blessed this weary earth 
With all thy lofty spirit brought; 

The faithful wife, the mother's worthy 

The steadfast friend — thou lackest naught. 

Thy life is full and overflows 

With benedictions born of thee. 
So shall it be until its close, 

So shall it be, so shall it be. 



KINDLY DEEDS LIVE ON. 

The earth may change its path through space, 
And every star forget its place; 
The blush forsake the cheek of Dawn, 
But kindly deeds live on and on. 

The flowers you laid upon the bier, 
To soothe the heart and check the tear, 
The sympathy, the thought most kind, 
You gave to a dear one who was blind. 

These, oh, these, sweet friend, indeed, 
Since you were friend in need, 
Are living on in that realm above 
Where all is life, and life is love. 

Oh, give me the heart that swells with emotion 
For another in affliction and sorrow; 

Where sweet sympathy's tears tell true devotion 
Though the storm beat louder tomorrow. 



Eighty -Six 

IN LOVE'S FOND KEEPING. 

Like a young star reclining on the bosom of Morn, 
Like a gem in the dim mystery ol ages unborn, 
She rose o er the world; and the deep, amethyst 

skies 
Grew lustrous with the kindling beam in her glor- 
ious eyes; 
Pure, limpid streams, part hidden, yet a part 

revealed 
Like Love's glinting arrows which are but half con- 
cealed 
Beneath sweet innocence, and artless art; denied 
The solace of confession and the license to confide 
Its fondest hopes, its fears, and its dear, adoring 

love; 
And, perchance, despair, aye, and its sweet, aspiring 

pride 
As pure and holy as the sacred incense of a bride 
Who, kneeling at Love's altar, she pours and 

offers up, 
Her lavish dower of homage with which she fills 
life's cup. 

Rare mead of Life's most precious gifts was fash- 
ioned in her mind, 

Promise of rich inheritance to greater things 
designed. 

Responsive to affections whose chords vibrate above 

In lasting, great affection and tenderer bonds of 
love, 

Only linked by learning the almighty power of 
God, 

Dispensing more celestial law than ruling by his 
rod — 



Eighty -Seven 

Power altogether loving and altogether wise, 
Attuned to all perfection, leaving naught to man's 

surmise ; 
But, linking life immortal with ardent life on earth. 
Sustains the vital truth that love in perfect thought 

had birth, 
Linking filial love with sweet maternal hope and 

pain, 
Brings love to life, and life to sweet, eternal love 

again. 



IN SUMMER TIME. 

There's a little child singing across the way, 
A song without words, or theme, or metre; 

The rain is sifting down, and the clouds are grey, 
But the child sings sweeter and sweeter. 

There's a little bird sheltered 'neath dripping leaves, 
Caroling a love song, soft, appealing; 

The strain keeping rhythm with the spirit that 
weaves 
Child song and bird carol into feeling. 

In the sweet, cool woods lilts a yearning note, 
Drifting among the tangled, wild bushes; 

And "Pheo-b-e, pheo-b-e," from a quivering throat, 
Awakens the orioles, robins and thrushes. 

A rivulet ripples by the garden's rim. 

Where hollyhocks lean their gawdy, round faces. 

And motion to the bee, a-beckoning him 

To feasts that wait 'neath their homely graces. 



Eighty- Eight 



And roses are nodding in the woods scented wind, 
With bittersweet vines trailing over; 

And alders, white helmeted, boldly outlined, 
Where robin chirrups the role of lover. 

When lengthening shadows are draping the scene, 
With fleetfooted Twilight soon pursuing, 

The love bird calls to his mate from a screen 
Which Nature designed for singing and cooing. 

Now Night is crooning a rock-a-by tune 
Where leafy-bough cradles are swaying; 

The little child sleeps 'neath the robes of the moon 
Where the little Dream Fairies are playing. 

Soon sunlight will shimmer on hill and flower, 
And sprinkle through vines and wild bushes; 

'Twill awaken the nestlings asleep in the bower — 
The orioles, robins and thrushes. 

There's never a day that does not bear 
A blessing as well as a sorrow; 

And rare is the grief which does not wear 
The reflection of a brighter morrow. 



WHICH WOULD I CHOOSE. 

Which would I choose if I had my way — 
The part in life I should have to play? 
What place would I take in life's great plan, 
A woman's sphere or that of a man? 
The freedom men have appeals to me — 



Eighty- Nine 

To choose and direct their destiny, 

To sa} they'll do that, or they'll do this, 

Whether they gain, or whether they miss, 

Pushing onward to points still higher 

I ntil they have reached their hearts' desire. 

They roam at will like the bumble bee. 

In quest of honey in dell and lea — 

In their search for pleasure and for gain, 

Nor count the cost nor reckon the pain. 

E'en the most momentous step in life 

They choose, for do they not choose a wife? 

They say to themselves, "I'll strive for fame, 

The world shall see my luminous name 

Like a sparkling meteor full ablaze. 

And view my course with tense amaze." 

Men dream and do most wonderful things. 

'Gainst heaven's blue dome they beat with wings; 

And calmly float 'midst ethereal scenes 

Careening aloft in flying machines. 

Beneath the deep sea their monster steeds 

Race with their load of humanity's needs. 

Bridled and harnessed at their command 

They speed away to some foregn land 

As safe as a bird in its homeward flight 

Eluding its foes in the dark of night; 

And quick as the lightning's flash is spent 

Their thoughts, encircling the world, are sent ; 

Nor would I conclude to have them shorn 

Of their mead of praise for the part they've borne. 

Godspeed for whatever they yet may do 

Of all that is kingly, great and true; 

But with all their freedom and all their power, 

I crave a sweeter and a loftier dower. 

I'll do them homage with tongue and pen, 

But I'd choose to be the mother of men. 



Ninety 

MOONLIGHT OiN THE MOUNTAIN. 

(Marshall's Pass, Colorado.) 

Over deep gorges, through canons and valleys, 

Around quick curves engirdling the mountains, 
Crawling and hissing through serrated alleys. 
By laughing, disporting, foamcrested fountains. 
Like a frenzied serpent let loose from its cage. 
Uncoiling its sinews in venomous rage, 

The iron limbed caravan rent the darkness 

With rattle portentious, and breath kindled 
torches 
Illumining grim barracks where but a spark less 
Would have sufficed to glut the anger which 
scorches 
The sides of old Pluto's embattlements. 
Behind which abandoned souls make vain de- 
fense. 

Black browed monarch of speed, the smoke of 
whose nostrills 
Beats 'gainst the tense thews of inanimate power, 
'Till they slip from restraint, stupendous, yet docile, 
And measure brief time from apex to tower 
Which Mind wrested from Chaos — initial 
Act of Law, to Chaos most sacrificial. 

All around the travelers was rainfall with thunder; 

And the whipcords of Jove curled vividly o'er us, 
Lest our steed should slacken its effort — small won- 
der — 

For the Pass still reared its far summit before us. 



Ninety- One 



Then breaking through crevice in a trailing 

cloud, 
The moon peered coldly through a filmy 

shroud — 

A silver censor swung from the hand of Shadow, 

Whose flames, ambrosial, li-zht the dim columns 
Which gird the margin of miniature meadow 
When Hesperides guards when the lingering vol- 
umes 
Of light are strewn upon peak and over rock- 
ledge, 
And filtered o'er precipice lo its black edge. 

Deep yawned wide mouthed chasms in whose 
wombs eternal, 
Night keeps Day imprisoned and bound, cruelly, 
Between gorgeous pillars, emblazoned in diurnal 
Heraldry, and the gates which open dually 
To nocturnal deities, and the god of sleep, 
Where each, in his domain, his ceaseless vigils 
keep. 

Over bleak pinnacle, in creased drapery. 

Edged with fringe of pine tree shadows, young 
and older, 
Moonlight falls, and where Boreas spread his 
napery 
At feast of Winter, held on crag and boulder, 
Where his broken scepter still gleaming lies 
Beneath the warm disdain of Summer's azure 
eyes. 



Ninety- Two 



LOVE'S MIRACLE. 



I found it blooming beside my door 

One dreary INovember day, 
When fair blue skies were mantled o'er 

With deep clouds, chill and gray. 

The green on the wooded hill had turned 

Into faded autumn hues, 
And hoar frost lay where the red rose burned 

Instead of the summer dews. 

Instead of the robin and shy blue bird. 
Whose love notes fell from budding bough, 

The scolding caw of the crow was heard 
From the tall tree, leafless now. 

W^here zephyrs romped with redolent breath, 

Tangling the tresses of June, 
Blossoms lay still in the clasp of death — 

Old Boreas had come too soon. 

Tho' bereft of its mates this fragile flower 

Still lifted its sweet wan face. 
Nor heeded the cheerless gloom of the hour, 

Nor the desolate air of the place. 

Kneeling beside it with soft caress, 

I kissed the tears from its eyes 
And drew it to my heart with tender stress 

And hid it from the angry skies. 

"Sweet thing," I whispered in pitying tone, 
"I love you so! Why should you bloom 

'Mid frigid scenes whence friends have flown. 
When there's sunshine in my room?" 



Ninety' Three 



I took it away from a spot so cold. 

And set it on my window sill. 
Where I lovingly watch its charm unfold. 

And await some new charm still. 

I mark with delight each deepening trace 

Of pristine beauty renew. 
In perfecting form and maturing grace — 

What miracles love will do! 



MOTHER'S LETTER. 

The skies are dull, the winds are chill. 
The bare trees shiver in the cold; 

The woods are mute and on the hill 
Sits white haired Winter, wan and old. 

The restless stream, though half congealed, 
Still urges onward toward the sea; 

So does my love, though half concealed. 
By distance ever reach toward thee. 

Within my heart 'tis warm and bright, 
For love is there, my darling son. 

Though far away there comes tonight 
Dear visions of the absent one. 

Though far away I see your face 

And hear your laughter ebb and flow 

With youthful zest until your place 
Is filled again. I see it so. 



Ninety-Four 

Once more I clasp you in my arms, 
I press you close against my heart 

And look upon your manly charms 
Till jealous tears begin to start. 

Those dear, blue eyes look into mine 
And hidden in their depths appears 

A brighter glow — a light divine — 
Which was not there in other years. 

The image of another face 

As pure and fair as Juneday skies 
Looks up with sweet, bewitching grace 

To catch the love light in your eyes. 

Tis well, I do not chide, my boy ; 

You love your mother none the less 
Because you know a holier joy 

And feel a deeper tenderness. 

I send a mother's prayers for both. 
With mother's kisses, fond and true. 

And bless the gentle power which doth 
Unite in one the souls of two. 



r\ 



Iliii'iS,^,!,.?^ CONGRESS 




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